Also Sprach TMA1
by Teroglahn
Summary: Ever wonder what it's like to be buried for four million years, dug up again, gawped at, and not even have arms? Just ask the Tycho Monolith. Oneshot


**Author's Note: **This is a silly little thing I did in my spare time, in the words of the Tycho Monolith (or Tycho Magnetic Anomally 1). The title is a parody of 2001's theme song: Also Sprach Zarathustra (Thus Spoke Zarathustra). See if you could get all the little 2001 cracks.

**Disclaimer**: 2001: A Space Odyssey and associated books belongs to Stanley Kubrick and Sir Arthur C. Clarke.

**Also Sprach TMA-1**

"Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do…

I'm all crazy, all for the love of…"

Oh! Hi there! You guys are humans, aren't you? Wow, it's been a while since the last report I've received about you – what was it, four million years? Believe it or not, I was actually expecting something more… hairier, y'know? Guess a lot happens in four million years, including the invention of waxing. Eh? Eh?

Er… okay. You're not laughing. And you're just… standing there. My, this is awkward. Can't you go on and shout incoherently, or grunt, or… something you monkey boys always do? I mean, do I have a smudged surface or something? Oh, I hope not. I told the guys to be careful about burying me. I _told_ them I was claustrophobic and allergic of moon-dust.

But _noooo_. "We just have to survey them," they said, "It's only a brief study about those apes clowning around on Earth. It's just the usual: we mess with their heads, introduce to tools, get them civilized, create another Star Child, and _maybe_, just _maybe_ host a tea party with them. That is, _if_, they don't blow themselves up first."

They could've at least told me I'd be stuck here for a while. Mother's not going to be happy. They could've at least assigned me to Europa or Iapetus, or something closer to a decent Stargate.

C'mon, guys. Just come a bit closer and, well, say something! I won't mind. Ask me anything, like, "Mr. TMA-1, what business do you have hiding beneath the surface of my moon? It's quite intrusive."

Or perhaps, "Mr. Monolith, sir, do you mind us calling you a magnetic anomaly?" That was pretty rude and all, calling me an "anomaly." Imagine me calling you a "Big-headed monkey anomaly," or something like that. And why TMA-1? I'm the only TMA around, thank you very much.

You could at least ask me, "My God, what's that creepy music?" That's actually a pretty funny story. One of my pals, Chuck, says, "Y'know what'll really creep those monkey-boys out? If we could just install some freaky background music to scare 'em with!" So the contractor says, "OK," and the next day, he brings in his iPod and starts playing _Star Wars_ music! Hah! _Star Wars_ music! Imagine being buried for four million years, and the first thing you wake up to is the _Imperial March_!

Ha ha ha! Ha… ha…

Why aren't any of you laughing? Can't you take a joke, or at least ask how we wound up listening to iPods and watching _Star Wars_ and naming each other Chuck? Well, I'll tell…

Ah, there you go. You're coming down the ramp. Well, move it! I'm a busy guy, you hear? I'm due in Jupiter in nine years. That might not seem like a lot to you but…

Oh, not again. You're staring at me! Yes, I know. I'm metallic, I'm black, I'm an extraterrestrial device, and I'm impossible for the human mind to fathom. I know,I know... I resemble Michael Jackson. Just stop staring at me!

I had a cousin who landed on Earth a while back, and he said you folks were an entertaining bunch. They banged on him, they hooted at each other, and they each threw sticks in the air. He said I'd have a blast. But now I see that he's a liar. You guys are just a bunch of stuck-up tourists in shiny white suits.

H-hey! Hey! Lay off the façade, pal. Do you know how long it takes me to polish myself, without arms? It's not a trip in the Orion, if you ask me. Now, I have to shine myself all over again.

Speaking of which, is that the sun? Cool. I haven't seen the sun in four million years. It's nice to see light again.

Wait a sec… Yeow! Ah-ah… that hurts! Ooh, sunburn! Sunburn! I'm frying here! Damn the corporation for painting me black. It absorbs heat! Ahhhh!

Please, people, don't just stand there. I'm melting! You uncovered me, so just bury me again. I won't mind. Give me some of that nice, cool, moon-dust.

Wait – is that a camera? Oh, no! Please, don't film me now. Anytime, just not now! I'm scorched, I'm dusty, I've been smudged by your filthy jumpsuits – heck, I don't even have my makeup on! Please, stop!

Okay, THAT'S IT! I will NOT TAKE this ANYMORE! DO YOU HEAR ME? I WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS, you GREASY APE-MEN!

Go on. Go ahead and cover your puny little ears. I'LL JUST SHOUT LOUDER!

YOU HEATHEN LITTLE BRATS! WE MONOLITHS COME DOWN FROM THE SKY, AND YOU EXPECT US TO BE LITTLE PIECES OF SCRAP METAL! YOU EVEN MAKE FUN OF OUR THEME SONG!

WELL, NO MORE MISTER NICE-MONOLITH. I'M TELLING MY BROTHER! HE'S TWO KILOMETERS LONG AND HE COULD ZAP YOU INTO ANOTHER DIMENSION!

OH, BIG BROTHER! I HAVE SOME LITTLE TOYS FOR YOU! THEY'RE GONNA COME UP AND PLAY, NO DOUBT! LET'S SEE IF THEY'RE BIG ENOUGH TO GO THERE, WITH THEIR STINKIN' LITTLE HOMOCIDAL COMPUTERS, THEIR RIDICULOUSLY LONG SHIPS, AND THEIR IMPOSSIBLE ZERO-GRAVITY TOILETS!

Wooh… wow. Good thing I got that off my chest… Have a nice day, ape-men, and don't let the ramp collapse on the way out.

**FIN**


End file.
